


Content

by IzzyMarrie



Category: Marble Hornets
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen, Hardships, Male Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 11:21:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7359229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IzzyMarrie/pseuds/IzzyMarrie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The sound of soft, buzzing static leaves a stagnant room feeling dull.  A low groan fights trembling lips and wins.  Not bothering to move the bunched up sheets from his mouth, a young man, who should be in the prime of his life, quietly stares through tired eyes at the flickering t.v. screen.</i>
</p><p>This has become a way of life for Jay Merrick, although he won't complain.  He's not exactly much for conversation, not since the 'incident' all those years ago.  Now his life is expressed in footage, edited and given a voice through text on screen that he uploads to his youtube channel.  It's almost like being put on auto-pilot day by day as he goes about his daily activities, when he actually musters the strength to get out of bed, that is.</p><p>When did it all come down to this?  Super natural entities, masked stalkers, and an old college friend turned murderer . . . and when it comes to one of these masked stalkers, well, sometimes you take what you can get when it comes to the way of company, and sometimes, all it takes is a gesture of good-will to chip at the walls that have been put up, and whether that's even smart is not the question.  Sometimes you take what you can get in order to just feel human.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Content

#  **"Content"**

####  Written by: 

####  Sara Hervey (aka: IzzyMarrie, or 'The Major' )

 

####  **NOT**  to be used without MY permission

#####  **Disclaimers:   Jay and Tim belong to the THAC crew  
** **In fact, ALL of Marble Hornets belong to the THAC crew**

##### I'm just borrowing (because sharing is caring) : 3

**R &R.  Enjoy!**

****

 

****

 

****

* * * *

 

 

            The sound of soft, buzzing static leaves a stagnant room feeling dull.  A low groan fights trembling lips and wins.  Not bothering to move the bunched up sheets from his mouth, a young man, who should be in the prime of his life, quietly stares through tired eyes at the flickering t.v. screen.  He sighs, sitting up and slowly reaching for his phone.

            Rubbing his hand across his face and sweaty hair, he takes a moment's pause and wonders if he should start his day.  This _is_ the first time in weeks that he's paid for a room, and he'd be lying to himself if he said a shower doesn't sound good.  There's also Twitter, and a possibility that he missed something on one of the tapes, or something could be on his surveillance . . .

            He stares uneasily at the camera set up on his nightstand.  No, he can't think of that.  Not now.  He can't handle it.  His stomach growls, and he places a hand on his stomach as if trying to calm it.  In the end, a _lot_ is sounding good right now.  More than just hungry, it feels like acid just might consume him if he keeps this up.  Wouldn't that be something, like imploding from the inside.

            The man sucks in a sharp breath and falls back to the bed, not even bothering to tuck himself 'neath the sheets despite a sudden chill licking his pallid skin.  Quietly, he stares back at the t.v.  It's only 4 a.m.  He only went to sleep an hour ago.

            For a moment, he considers turning off the screen.  It's possible the t.v. is keeping him awake, but then, "Not worth it," he says, much too quiet for the camera to pick up.  It doesn't take long for him to close his eyes once more.  It's been too damn long since he's had a full night's sleep, but something keeps him from shutting down the flickering menace.

            He rolls over to face the other side, clutching the tangled sheets even tighter.  Yes, not even worth it.  Besides, the noise rumbling from that tiny box is better than silence.

 

* * * *

 

            A sudden knock on the door startles the man awake.  His eyes shoot up.  He remembered his shoes, he's dressed, camera, phone-

            "House keeping!"

            House keeping?  The young man shakes his head and places it into his hand.  Suddenly, he realizes that day crept up much faster than he had expected.  He's too tired . . .  He could pretend she isn't there, but then she would just come in.  He has to say something.

            Before he can stop himself, he's already at the door peeking through the eye hole just to make sure the person is who they say they are.  "Okay, hold on."  He opens the door, and without looking directly at her, he brushes past the startled woman.

            Camera, phone, shoes . . .  He rushes back into the room, muttering a quick "sorry" before grabbing a bag full of tapes, his hard drive and laptop and rushing back out the door.  No, he can't forget these.  In a sick, twist of fate, his life is now compiled, stacked into these backups, whether or not the cruel representation of reality seems real or not.  Every anomaly, every clue, any hope things can change.  Wouldn't that be something?  To be normal again . . .

            He awkwardly clutches his camera and laptop bags.  "What now?"  Certainly, he has time to kill.  No job, dwindling trust fund money barely getting him by and yet by some miracle, he's still there by the grace of his patient, if not desperate family.  Yes, he sank that low, a lie here and there about not being able to pay rent, not even bothering to tell them his apartment burned down.  Not that they bothered checking in on him in years anyway, otherwise, they would have known.  What would they think of him now?

            Finally, he decides to walk to the hotel parking lot and sits down at the curb.  It's not a busy area, and not a lot of people to watch.  Still, it's nice to get some fresh air, even though it's equally as weird seeing people.  It's still nice.  Maybe later, he might take a drive.  Maybe.  Or maybe, he might go back to waiting in his room for a call that will kick him back into action.

 

* * * *

 

            "Hey Jay-"

            "Hey!"  The man quickly pushes his laptop to the side and sits at the edge of the bed.  "So . .  when, when do you think we can go?  You haven't called in weeks."  He doesn't realize how tense he is, how tightly he's clutching his phone.

            It's quiet.  Too quiet.  He doesn't even hear the buzzing static from the t.v. and another chill rushes past.  Did his phone cut out?  Did the Operator, no, did Alex, or the man in the hood . .

            "Jay, it's 9.  I thought you wanted to leave when it's light out?"

            Silently, Jay abandons his laptop, the flashing scenes long forgotten by his damaged mind seeming even less interesting as he walks to the window.  He peeks past the curtains . . .

            "Hey, are you still-"

            "Yeah . . . still here."

            "No, I mean same-"

            "Yeah."  He couldn't hide the trembling in his voice.  Such a weak, pathetic, and feeble man.  Jay can't bring himself to push away the only person who has actually _wanted_ to speak to him in years.  God knows, he doesn't deserve it.

            "Stay there."

            "Alright."  Jay hangs up first, actually feeling embarrassed.  Of course it wasn't time to go yet, the investigation must wait 'til day.  It's stupid to go at night, and he's not stupid enough to go anywhere at night, not anymore.  He stares at his phone.  Shit, what did Tim want to call him for? 

            The flickering light beckons from the bed, and Jay looks over at the screen.  There, years ago, a slightly younger him smiles back.  A best friend, now turned murderer, shoves his shoulder and makes a wise crack.  _Alex . . ._

__A girl named Sarah, now most likely dead, laughs next to another familiar face, most likely dead as well.  Yes, these aren't tapes posted online, no strange eldritch stalker lacking a face or clues vital to his investigation.  When did it all come to this?

            Suddenly, his stomach twists when he sees another face he knows, the man who is on his way right now.  From behind him, a stalking figure hushes the unknown camera man as he sneaks behind his new best friend.  He slams his hands on his shoulders, making him jump while everyone, Jay included, laughed.  Tim realized it was just his new friend playing a stupid prank, and so he laughed too.

            It's almost unreal.  Jay closes the lid, places his laptop back on the stand.  When did it all come to this?

 

* * * *

 

            Another place, wayward eyes study the passing faces of both locals and tourists alike.  A trail of smoke flutters as the cigarette it came from is tapped against an ash tray, soon smothering it and the flame that birthed it out of existence.  The man who extinguished the flame is of a stockier build than the frail man hiding in the hotel room.  His skin is lightly tanned, kissed by the warm Alabama sun, much better groomed as to appeal to the working man standards of society.  Yes, much unlike the unraveling man rotting in his own makeshift prison . . .  and yet, this is something Tim understands far better than his selfish friend.

            Wait, friend?  That is, without really thinking about it, what he has been calling Jay despite the fact he was the one whose obsession had publicly humiliated him on more than one occasion.  Yes, to whom is their shattered lives put on display?  Yet . . .  Tim is a calm man, a sensible man.  It is not entirely Jay's fault.  Not when it was him who had unknowingly brought that _thing_ with him.  Broken minds, marching forward, and day by day has been a challenge.  At least with this . . .

            Tim takes the keys from the ignition, shoving a hand in his pocket so he can make sure he still has his wallet.  Jay hasn't been the only one forgetful lately, and it's better to double check before he goes inside.  Tim laughs bitterly.  Damn.  Down to his last twenty dollar bill.  He won't touch his savings, been working too hard to try and save up just enough so he can quit his job.  Yet, work hasn't been steady, and he might need to tap into his reserve if he keeps going like this.  His next pay check is in 10 days.

            Tim looks up, shaking his head as he heads for the gas station door.  It's a good thing he's a simple man.  Could be much worse, and at least he still has his job.  His hand falls against the glass, ready to push open the door when, "Hey, if it isn't . . Tim?" some random guy starts calling for him.

            Tim doesn't know a lot of people, keeping mostly to himself.  "Yeah, who's asking?"  He slowly turns, slightly suspicious of the stranger until suddenly recognizing him as someone he works with.  "Oh, hey."  He lets out a light laugh.  Throughout the years, he's picked up enough social cues to at least seem polite.

            "Man, how you doin'?  I never see you outside work!"  The man looks like he's in his fifties, old enough to be Tim's father, rough around the edges, but a sincere looking guy none-the-less. 

            Tim grips his hand in a firm hand shake.  "Oh, I've been around.  Haven't been doin' much of anything really.  Just came to grab some snacks for the road."

            "Oh?" the man asks.  "Where you headin'?  I'm just about to head to Tennessee, myself.  Got to go see my grand-daughter Lillian.  She's such a sweet little thing, but that daddy of hers, I'm not a fighting man, but I'd love to show him a thing or two."

            Tim finds himself scratching his head, nervously looking away for a moment.  "Well, to be honest, I have a sick friend, and so I'm just paying him a visit so he doesn't claw out his brain from boredom."

            "Oh, you're a good man Tim," the older fellow pats the stunned man on the shoulder, forcing him to blink.  A good man?  This man doesn't know him.  Tim knows better than to argue, and so he just nods and opens the door so they can go inside.

            "Oh, that reminds me." Tim is determined to grab what he needs and go, but can't help but want to listen to the old guy.  Tim never had a father growing up.  It was always him and his mother, and beyond the countless nights seeing her cry or suddenly cower after a violent fit he doesn't remember . .  he picked up smoking from his mother.  She brought him to the behavior center for the first time at 8.  If his dad left because of him, he's sorry.  Jesus, he's such a fuck up . .

            "You alright boy?" 

            Tim snaps out of it, quickly laughing it off with a wave of his hand.  "Yeah, sorry, I just have a lot on my mind right now."

            "Well, alright then."  The man stares at Tim for a moment, then reaches into his pocket to grab his phone.  "Shoot, remind me to never stop at the bar after work for drinks before doing what my wife told me."  They both share a laugh.

            "Well, looks like we both got to go, but hey, it was nice seeing you.  Hope you have a nice time with your grand-daughter."

            The man walks straight to the counter.  "Oh, yeah, that reminds me!  Jim said you might be able to cover for me sometime next week when I get going?"  He points the cashier to a pack of Seneca Full Flavor 100s, and barely turns his head to Tim.

            Yeah.  Something Tim has learned well in his life.  Everyone wants something.  "Yeah, sure, that's no problem," Tim answers, waving off the guy as he heads over to the snack isle.

            "Thanks Tim, I sure owe you one!"

            "Yeah, sure."  Tired eyes scan over several junk items on display.  Beef jerky, trail mix, junk he'd rather not buy but he's sure it's better than the nothing that's waiting for his friend back in the room.  Honestly, he doesn't know what to do with the guy.  He could easily just leave him there to rot, but then he can't.  Before Tim knows it, he's already grabbing several things off the shelf, until suddenly, it hits him.

            In a time long ago, a young boy sits alone at a table, none of the other kids wanting to go near him.  Bitterly, a young Tim sat, shuffling his feet against the floor as he stared at his food.  Mom would want him to eat.  He can't make himself eat.  If he doesn't eat, the people here will be upset, disappointed.  They don't think he can hear them, but he knows the thing he sees is real.  It's after him.  What scares him more is the fact no one believes him.  No one will help him.  He has to help himself.

            Suddenly, Tim shoves the bags of jerky back on the shelf and walks out the door.  Silently, he makes his way to his car and drives off to the Burger King down the road.  It may be a bad move to trust someone, especially Jay, but then again . . . there was a time, he does not remember how or why, but he himself had worn a mask and broke into this very man's home and now he's trusting him.  He won't let Jay get used to this, but every now and again, a burger beats whatever the hell he's eating.  
 __

__

  
* * * *

 

            A knock on the door forces Jay on his feet and in full investigation mode.  Seeing it's Tim, he opens the door and steps back, slumping down on the bed.  Tim spots a chair next to a desk, and he sits.  Jay looks awful, and it's something Tim notices right away.  There's a bit of light in his eyes, but then everything else might as well be dead, so much worse than he last saw him.

            Tim shoves a burger into Jay's hands, and Jay silently accepts it, quickly unwrapping it and about to take a bite before coming to his senses and thanking his friend.  After-all, Tim had no reason to do this.  Tim barely knows Jay, and not to mention . .  Jay has been fucking up so much lately.  He's not his caregiver.

            The meal goes over wordlessly.  Save for the news playing in the background and the sound of a passing drunk laughing outside the door, there's nothing.  Well, not true.  Crumbling wrappers, and a few slurping sounds whenever one of the men drink from their sodas give some bit of a hint of life.  Maybe that's why Jay smiles for a moment, not realizing just how content he is being next to another human being.

            Tim is the same way.  He can't describe it, but no matter how frustrating the man in front of him can get, he isn't alone anymore, and he's content.  He gets up to collect his and Jay's trash when his cigarettes fall out of his work shirt pocket.  Tim grunts and picks them up.  Suddenly, nicotine.  "You mind if I?-"  
     
            Jay cuts in, "I mean, it doesn't matter to me.  This room is already stale and danky."

            Tim nods, he has to agree.  Not much of a place to live in, small, cramped, and not much air . .  Tim lights his cigarette, taking in a huge breath of smoke.  Not healthy, but then again, who is he to say anything?

            Several moments of silence roll between them before Jay decides to talk.  "Hey Tim, can I ask you something?"

            "Uhh . . sure."  Tim curiously regards his friend.   
     
            Jay makes a face.  "How much money do you spend on those?"

            Oh.  Unexpected . .

            "I'm not saying you should quit . . "

            Good, Tim thinks to himself.  He would have to wonder if Jay hit his head if he said that.

            "but how many of those do you smoke a day?"

            Annoyed, Tim shrugs and tucks his pack back into his shirt pocket.  "No, and more money than Alex and his tapes."  Realizing he created extra tension by mentioning the name of their old friend, the very man who is now a murderer and after them, he quickly shakes the subject.  "Okay, something needs to be done about this."

            "About what?" Jay asks, suddenly confused.

            "I mean, what are we doing?"

            Jay is silent.  If a breeze were to suddenly break through the window, defying logic like all else, it would knock him down, carry him away.  All the days, no, _years,_ wasted?  Are they?  The taunting videos of totheark, the stalker, no _stalkers_ . .  time is running out, meanwhile a faceless monster is getting its kicks knowing they're suffering, _operating their lives_ as if they're marionettes in its sick show.  To make matters worse, Jay says he's doing this, going forward to save Jessica, a girl he barely knows, a girl he hasn't seen in over a year and a half and who may have very well been dragged into this because of him, and he couldn't keep her safe.  Jay knows deep down though it's more than that.  He has no life now; guilt is only part of what drives him to move forward.

            Damnit!  Why did Tim make him think about this?  He answers honestly, "I don't know," and it's barely above a whisper.

            Tim regards the broken man in front of him.  He has no obligations to him.  Yet . .  because of him . .  his life was ruined, but no, he ruined it!  He ruined his own life, had every chance to back down and stop . .  but does that matter now?  "There's no use sitting here wasting away just because life isn't what you thought it would be."

            "You have a lot of nerve . . "  The words come out more venomous than he wanted, but what's said is said.  Jay glares at Tim.  They're both drowning in this sea of perpetual sorrow and madness, so how _dare_ he.

            "Look, we're in this together now.  You don't think I feel bad?  Because I do!  Every single day.  I'm still sick.  I'm still having to cope with the fact that because of me, people are dying and my own mother won't even see me."

            Jay is stunned.  Tim never talks about his mother, and he rarely snaps.  He . .  doesn't know what to say.  This isn't his fault!  Not entirely, anyway.  How could a kid possibly know that making friends could drag them into an impossible mess of . .  just no!  "Look, I know we're in this together!  And I'm . .  I'm sorry, but you're shifting the blame and right now, there's no point to it!"

            "Just . .  shut up Jay."  Tim is shaking, not looking up.  He hears rustling around in the room, and a slamming door.  Jay left for the bathroom. 

            Why is this happening?  Jay grips the counter and stares at his reflection.  There's bags 'neath his eyes, and he looks so dull . .  Tim is still outside that door, thinking he's an idiot.

            It suddenly hits him.  He is an idiot.  His back hits the door, and still standing, he stares back at his reflection.  What would his family think of him now?  What would his father think of him?  Always wanting the perfect son, athletic, agile, smart, we'll send you to college _boy,_ and you'll make us proud, won't you _boy?_   An eternal screw up blaming the world because he made mistakes that were obviously bad choices.  He's making one now.

            Jay steps back out just in time to see Tim leaving.  He freezes, suddenly all courage to say he's sorry gone with the realization his only friend is beyond angry.  He had come here to be nice.  They weren't even leaving until tomorrow morning.

            Tim looks at the frozen man.  He remembers his unspoken law of survival, the one no one ever seemed to notice.  No one cared enough to notice.  No one cared enough about him to ask why he was so shy, why they heard that he was locked away so many times, why he was barely in their school despite being from the same area his whole life . . .

            "We need to get you outside," Tim says finally, a small laugh attempting awkwardly to brush away the sorrow. 

            Jay looks relieved, laughing softly as if trying to make amends.  "Yeah, that actually sounds good."

 

  
* * * *

 

            The moonlight pokes tiny holes through a cloud, the rays hardly enough to illuminate the night life below.  Yet a street light provides plenty, and Tim and Jay sit calmly as they watch the cars pass them by.  Tim notices that Jay still hasn't given up the camera, but says nothing.  He knows by now that Jay won't ever stop recording his life until he feels he is safe, safe from Alex, from the hooded man, and from that _thing_ that just won't let them go.

            "Hey, Jay," Tim says through a puff of smoke.

            Jay looks over at him.  "Yeah?"

            "After all this, we're getting you a girlfriend."

            It came so sudden, that Jay practically chokes.  "W-wha?  Wait, what?  Where'd that come from?"  The shock doesn't go away, especially considering that Jay has never seen Tim look so . .  He remembers the old tape, back when they were all just stupid college kids getting ready to make a dumb student film.  Tim's smiling bigger than in that tape.

            "Yeah," Tim puts out his cigarette on the side of the bench and drops it to the ground where he crushes it further with his foot.  A smug look befalls his face when he sees just how awkward he made Jay.  "And I'm quitting smoking, and you'll stop following strangers in the woods."

            Jay snorts, turning his head to look around them, probably in a fit of paranoia that someone is watching.  Familiar routines, he constantly has to keep looking.  There's no one that he can see, and he turns back to the creep beside him.  "Okay, how many pills did you take?"

            Tim shrugs.  "Last one was an hour ago, when we left your room."

            Jay sighs, staring down at his camera that he has resting on his knees.  "Alright, no," he suddenly remembers why he was annoyed with Tim to begin with.  "I do _not_ follow strangers into the woods.  Okay, Alex is not a stranger.  I didn't know he was a psychopath then, and . .  okay, I'll shut up."

            Tim's trying not to laugh.  It's wrong to laugh.  He can't help it.  He shakes it off though.  "And if a pretty lady says 'hello', Jay, what do we _not_ do?"  
     
            Jay gets up.  "Okay, I'm leaving."

            "By the way, what kind of women do you like?"

            Jay sits back down, hissing back at Tim and says, "You know, the lumber jack store called, and Brawny wants his shirt back."

            Tim breaks down and roars in laughter.  "O-oh?"

            "Okay, I know, that was bad.  Shut up."

            "No!" Tim shoves Jay's shoulder, and Jay shoves him back even harder, but it's still pathetic compared to how much more strength Tim has.  It's almost like being bit by a mosquito.  "Totheark called, and I think they're hiding behind that window."

            "Tim, that's not funny."

            "Oh?  1010111 . . "

            "Tim!"

            It's like being slapped.  Warm hand, the sting and snap as he looks up at his mother's crying face . . .   That really was stupid.  " . . Sorry.  Let's just forget I said anything, and if you want, I'll walk you back."

            Jay shouldn't have snapped; it's not like him.  He's quiet, disconnected.  Hide in the corner, no one will see me, no one knows I exist anyway . .  He uploads another tape online; he has an audience.  These people care, pretend to care.  He's not fading away, not that easy.  " . .  0110111."

            "Jay, you don't need to-"

            "And by the way," Jay interrupts, refusing to let Tim feel any worse than he already does, "If anything, the hooded guy's probably hiding behind a tree."  He looks around, realizing that yeah, that's a possibility.

            Tim hesitates.  For Jay, it's quiet, it's too quiet again.  The wind carries a couple of dead leaves across the ground, and police sirens whine in the distance.  Tim looks over at Jay, who is staring off toward the sound.  He snaps him from his thoughts.  "Oh yeah, when do you think we should leave tomorrow?"

            For a moment, a rustling sound can be heard behind them and both hush and look.  Nothing.  Yes, it's nothing.  Jay cracks a grin.  "Well, how many days do you have off?

            Tim says without hesitation, "Two."

            "I think there's some tapes I haven't looked at."

            Tim wonders if it's an excuse, but decides he doesn't care.  It sounds better, if he's to be honest with himself, then driving off to chase ghosts anyway.  "Heck, I'll bring some beer and we can make fun of how Alex's movie was more like a chick flick's gay cousin."

            Jay laughs, hard.  "Okay, then in that case, remind me to, after all this, repay you for all the beer, and burgers."

            "Yeah," Tim says, sitting back and crossing a leg over his knee.  "I'm opening up a tab for your sorry ass."

            In the end, there's a lot both men could be doing with their lives.  There's a lot of things, but in the end, none of them matter.  Here, in the moment, they are just two friends clinging to the little normalcy they have.  Nothing will ever be perfect, and they don't expect it to be, and they both realize, they're content.           

            Funny to be thinking of an 'after all this', but the more both men think about it, it drives them forward.

 


End file.
